by Kelly Meding
“Oh, no, dear,” replied someone who could only be an elderly woman. “This is 756 Cherryvale Court. I don’t know where Cherryvale Lane is.”
“Well, drat.”
“Should have known, honey,” Autumn piped in, playing along with the accent. “You told me Walter had a bunch of younger brothers, and my goodness, your house is beautiful. I can’t imagine a bunch of teenage boys tearing around in there.”
“No, no, we haven’t had boys in this house for many years,” the old lady said. “Our grandchildren live with their parents in Europe. We don’t get to see them but once every few years.”
Autumn cooed sympathy. “That’s terrible.”
“Yes, but my James and I get along just fine. We have some neighborhood boys who tend the yard and fix what needs fixing.”
I sat up a little straighter, my full attention on the cell phone spilling out the conversation. Even Paul and Carly shifted forward between the seats.
“That’s wonderful,” Autumn said. “It’s so nice when children help out their neighbors.”
“Oh, no, deary, they are young men, the lot of them. Should be in high school, but one told me they’re taught at home. Good boys, very polite.”
“It’s good they live close by.”
“Yes, somewhere close. I never did get their street, but one of them always seems to know when we need help. Good boys, especially that Danny. He’s the oldest of the bunch.”
Danny. I thought of Wolf Boy, the one who’d been working so closely with Thackery last month. The one I’d killed at Boot Camp. Logic suggested he was the oldest, to have been Thackery’s right hand.
“Well, thank you so much for your time, ma’am,” Sandburg said. “We’re sorry to have bothered you so early.”
“Posh, I was awake. Can’t sleep past the sun at my age. You two kids be safe, you hear? Some strange things happening in this city lately.”
I snickered.
“Take care,” Autumn said.
The door creaked shut. Several long moments passed, punctuated by the faint sounds of breathing.
“Well, that was actually useful,” Sandburg said. “Teenage boys who are all homeschooled, and live close by.”
“Thanks for the recap,” Baylor said. “What about scent?”
“Nothing fresh that we can follow. And ‘nearby’ could be this street or several streets in any direction.”
“There was no way to acquire further information without arousing her suspicion, I think,” Autumn said. “More direct questions would have seemed strange.”
“No, you did good,” Baylor replied.
“That’s sweet, boss.”
He rolled his eyes. “Keep going with the list while I text an update to Astrid. Maybe change the story this time—”
“Yeah, yeah, we’re looking for a neighbor who a friend said does good yard work, I got it.”
I liked Autumn. She thought fast and improvised well.
“Which one’s next?” Sandburg asked.
“787 Cherryvale,” I said. “Next block over.”
“Awesome. Let’s—do you smell that?”
Baylor fumbled his phone.
“It’s coming from over there,” Autumn said, to the sound of loud footsteps.
“Do not engage,” Baylor said.
“Look out!”
The phone line exploded with snarls, grunts, and shouts. Baylor yanked the gearshift down and slammed his foot on the gas. A car honked as he cut it off. I gripped the dash with both hands, adrenaline kicking my heartbeat up a notch. Phin’s knife was tucked carefully between my thigh and the seat, and as soon as Baylor slammed to a halt I grabbed it and bolted out of the van.
A waist-high, untrimmed hedge bordered the property of a house that had once been expensive but now simply looked tired. The eaves were cracked, the paint was peeling, the front walk stones were uneven and broken. It was one of the few unmaintained homes I’d seen in the neighborhood, and its wild lawn was the sight of a standoff. Autumn was on the ground, both hands clutching her bleeding throat, gasping for breath. A black wolf the size of a small horse had Sandburg by the back of the neck, teeth sunk in deep enough to draw blood. A flex of his jaw, and the Lupa would break Sandburg’s spine.
The Lupa snarled, and I stumbled to a halt halfway between them and Autumn. I felt, more than saw, Baylor, Paul, and Carly draw up behind me. For one brief, irrational moment, I had visions of Autumn and Sandburg in the infirmary, as sick and feverish as Wyatt. But then I remembered that they weren’t human—they were Therian, just like the Lupa. The infection wouldn’t affect them.
“You boys are just a bucket of trouble, aren’t you?” I said. Insects buzzed around us, a soft accompaniment to Autumn’s ragged breathing. “Danny says hello.”
He snarled again, louder. Sandburg’s eyes bulged, and his fingers dug into the grass. A loud whistle cut the quiet, bouncing off the homes around us, making the origin of the sound impossible to detect. The black Lupa dropped Sandburg and sprinted toward the back of the yard.
I gave chase, trusting the others to stay behind and tend to our wounded. Blackie charged through the tall grass of the front yard, past the aging house, and into the even taller grass of the backyard. I ran as fast as I could, little bursts of energy keeping me from feeling the instant burn in my legs. Someone was behind me, and I didn’t waste time or strength by looking over my shoulder.
Blackie sailed over the rear hedge and into another yard. I’d never run hurdles, but I didn’t stop or slow down. Just pushed off and hoped I didn’t break a bone on the landing. My foot caught the edge of the hedge, and I tumbled to the grass. Came up in a roll, left arm and ribs sore from the fall, and kept going. Miraculously, I hadn’t cut myself with the knife. A shout from behind told me that my companion hadn’t fared much better than I had.
Blackie veered left, crossing the new backyard at a diagonal. I kept my focus on him, so I missed who screamed and didn’t much care. I was chasing a full-grown werewolf through an historic neighborhood in broad daylight, with an ancient Coni weapon in my hand. Explaining it away to civilians was not on my To Do list. I just didn’t want to lose the damned Lupa.
And he was quickly putting distance between us.
A fence loomed ahead of him, this one solid wood and at least five feet high. I could scramble over, but I’d lose precious seconds doing so. Blackie galloped full-steam at the fence.
Shit, shit, shit …
He shifted hard right at the last moment and took off toward the front yard. I skidded a little, but had a wider angle to turn. My lungs burned, and my legs felt like jelly from the hard run. Up ahead in the street was an idling work van, plain white, its side door open. A pale face peered out from the dark square. Waiting.
Fuck no!
If Blackie got into the van, we’d lose them again. I pushed harder, desperate.
The Lupa in the back of the van shoved a large black-wrapped bundle onto the sidewalk—a bundle the size of a person. Blackie leapt over the bundle and into the van, which tore away from the curb before he was fully inside. Rubber squealed and exhaust plumed.
“Get the plate number!” I screamed as loudly as I could, given my severe lack of oxygen.
Paul raced past me. I fell to my hands and knees near the bundle, panting and sucking air into my starved lungs. Sweat dripped into my eyes and down my back, and I was mildly grateful I’d managed only a few bites of dry pancake at breakfast, or I’d probably be chucking it back up right about now.
The black sheet was bound with bungee cords. No damp spots indicated blood or wounds. Absolutely no movement—whoever was inside wasn’t breathing.
Still trying to control my own erratic lung functions, I chose the end of the bundle that looked most like a head and unsnapped the first bungee. Unwound it far enough to begin pulling back the sheet. Wide, empty eyes stared up at me from a too-pale, too-familiar face. I choked.
Something was tucked into his mouth. I pulled it out with trembling fingers an
d unfolded a handwritten note.
FOR MY BOYS. AN EYE FOR AN EYE.
Rage coursed through me stronger and more bitter than any adrenaline rush. Tears stung my eyes and closed my throat.
“Stone?” Paul came up behind me, breathing hard. “Holy shit, is that—?”
“Yeah.”
“Is he dead?”
I nodded, numbly reaching for my phone. Fumbled it twice before I managed to speed dial. Didn’t even know who until someone picked up.
“Kismet.” When I didn’t speak right away, she asked, “Stone? You there?”
“We need a car on, uh …” I had no idea where we were.
“840 Palmer Drive,” Paul said.
“On the eight-hundred block of Palmer Drive, Uptown.”
“What happened?” Kismet asked.
“Thackery sent us a message. Michael Jenner is dead.”
Sitting on a well-manicured lawn behind a trio of ornamentally cut trees with the dead body of a friend baking in the summer sun served as the perfect reminder of why I resented my afterlife. Jenner was a tall guy. Paul and I were not. Between the two of us, we had barely managed to drag the black-wrapped bundle off the sidewalk and into the yard next door.
We didn’t speak. After my initial call to Kismet, I turned the phone on vibrate and ignored it. Help was on the way. All that was left to do was wait and grieve.
The first car nearly overshot our position. Paul stood up and waved, and the car came to a brake-burning halt. All four doors opened simultaneously. Astrid, Marcus, Tybalt, and Kyle climbed out. Marcus still wore the walking cast, but he showed no sign of a limp from his wound. A thundercloud of fury hung over him, shared equally by Astrid and Kyle. Jenner had been one of theirs.
“What about the lockdown?” I asked dumbly, curious as to their appearance. I’d expected the Assembly to send someone outside the Watchtower to collect Jenner.
“Baylor and I overrode the decision,” Astrid said. “The Assembly is convening an emergency session in half an hour to discuss what’s to be done.”
Marcus crouched next to Jenner’s head and lifted the drape. He winced, then frowned.
“What’s to be done?” I parroted, confused now.
Astrid glared. “Yes, done. Kidnapping Clan members was bad enough, but the cold-blooded murder of the Assembly’s Speaker may be considered an act of war. If that determination is made, retribution will be required.”
Just like with the Sunset Terrace slaughter. For the deaths of his people, Phineas had asked the Assembly for the execution of former Handler Rufus St. James, who’d led the devastating raid. Only some complicated maneuvering had saved Rufus’s life all those months ago.
“Retribution from Thackery?” I said. “Get in line.”
“I don’t think you understand, Stone. Thackery may be acting alone, but he also acts in the supposed best interest of preserving his race. The human race. Murdering Michael Jenner was more than just a personal act of war against Therians. It was a human act against Therians.”
My heart thudded. I glanced at Tybalt, who looked as miserable as I felt. “So you’re saying that Walter Thackery might have just declared war for all humans against Therians?”
“According to our ancient traditions, yes.” Astrid looked less happy about it than Tybalt. “And if the Equi Elder demands immediate recompense, we must follow the wishes of the Assembly.”
“What does that mean, exactly?” Tybalt asked.
“It means revenge,” Marcus said. He stood, letting the black sheet fall back over Jenner’s face. “It means Elder Dannu can make any request he likes, and if the Assembly casts a majority vote, his people are obligated to carry it out and we cannot interfere.”
A chill danced up my spine. “So if the Assembly votes to let the Equi execute ten humans in retaliation for Jenner’s death?” I asked.
“Then ten humans will die by Equi hands.”
“Fuck.”
“Have you examined the body thoroughly?”
“No.”
“Judging by the skin tone and lack of settling, I’m guessing he died of massive blood loss.”
The Halfies. Shit. “Did you see—?”
“There were no visible bite marks, but Dr. Vansis will have to examine him to be certain.”
“So Thackery’s pissed we killed a couple of his werewolves,” Tybalt said, “and he feeds the most valuable of his kidnapped Therians to his Halfies. That’s our working theory?”
There were so many things wrong with that scenario, I didn’t know where to start. It was as ludicrous as it was perfectly logical. We’d fucked with Thackery’s plan, and now he was fucking with us.
“That’s the theory,” Astrid said. “And it makes sense, given what we know of Walter Thackery. Such an act of aggression may, depending on what the Assembly decides, break the fragile alliance we have created between humans and Therians.”
“And with the vampires busy trying to fight this new illness,” Marcus said, “our Watch is effectively divided.”
“Not yet it isn’t,” I said with a sharp shake of my head. “How long does it usually take the Assembly to make a decision on something like this?”
“It depends on the situation and how the Elders are likely to view it. The Equi are greatly respected, and Elder Dannu’s words will hold great power among the others. Eight votes are a majority.”
“So are we talking days? Hours?”
“Given the fact that other Clan members disappeared at the same time as Jenner, hours is optimistic.”
Damn. “We aren’t sure yet how Jenner died. The Assembly still has to rule on the Equi’s request, and we don’t even know what that will be, right?”
“Correct.”
“We also know the Lupa live around here somewhere, and considering what just happened, they’re probably not coming back. But if we get some noses out here, maybe we can find the house and some sort of lead.”
Kyle, who’d been completely silent until that moment, spoke up. “I’ll volunteer for that. My true form is a dingo. On first glance, most humans assume I’m some mixed mutt.”
Dingoes were beautiful animals, and I’d seen Kyle’s true form once. Thick golden fur with a dusting of white on the paws and chest, and an intelligent face. He did look a bit like a mix between a golden retriever and an Akita.
“Good,” Astrid said. “Check in every fifteen minutes.”
“Will do.” Kyle didn’t waste a beat. He started to strip.
“Marcus and I can assist on foot. I don’t think a pair of big cats will go unnoticed on these streets.”
I grunted. “What about—?”
Before I could voice my question, a utility van pulled up behind Astrid’s car. Two Therians I knew by sight, if not by name, got out.
“They’ll take Jenner back to the Watchtower,” Astrid said.
“I need to get across town to meet with the gremlins soon,” I said.
“Take the car. And them.” She pointed individually at Paul and Tybalt.
“Fine.”
Kyle trotted into the middle of the group and shook himself, his golden coat gleaming in the morning sun, and then snorted. His way of saying he was ready to go. Astrid conferred with the newest pair of Therians. Afterward, she tossed me a set of car keys.
“Be careful,” she said.
“You, too,” I replied. “And I’m sorry about Jenner. He was a good man.”
She gave me a long, assessing look. “Yes, he was.”
Kyle whined softly. At first, I thought it was impatience—a theory laid to rest as soon as I looked at him, facing north, nose in the air. He sniffed with purpose, then turned his head and whined at Astrid, seeming to ask Do you smell that? I didn’t.
“Something’s burning,” Marcus said.
Oh hell.
Chapter Sixteen
11:10 A.M.
With my deadline looming to meet the gremlin, I got an update on the fire about fifteen minutes later via a phone call from Marcus.
Tybalt was driving, and doing an impressive job in rush hour traffic with his prosthetic hand. I put the phone on speaker so I didn’t have to repeat the conversation.
“House was one block up, two over from that old lady you talked to earlier,” Marcus reported. The faint sounds of raised voices and sirens still hummed over the line. “The fire was going so hot and hard, it nearly took out a neighbor’s house. All the fire department can do is control its burn.”
“Do we have any information on who owns it?” I asked.
“Yes, and it wasn’t on your list. You’ll never guess, so I won’t even ask you to try.”
Thank God for small favors. I wasn’t in the mood for guessing games; I doubted anyone else was, either.
“Winston Zeigler,” he said.
The name seemed familiar, yet I couldn’t place it. Paul saved me from looking like an idiot by asking, “Who’s that?”
“Former head of the biology department at the university.”
Of course he was. “Don’t tell me,” I said. “He was there at the same time as Thackery.”
“Bingo.”
“How the hell did Reilly miss that connection?”
“He didn’t. Zeigler’s name wasn’t on the deed. It was his late wife’s family home and under her maiden name, so unless Reilly dug extra deep on all the homes, he wouldn’t have found it.”
Good. It saved me having to rip him a new one for the oversight. “How’d you find it?”
Marcus made a huffing sound that might have been laughter. “Reilly’s a PI, but he’s only been in the city a few months. My sources are still better.”
“So Winston Zeigler is our only lead?” Tybalt asked.
“At the moment, yes, but it isn’t a great one.”
“How’s that?”
“Astrid already called the university. Mr. Zeigler quit his position—”
“Three and a half years ago?” I said.
“Yes. He was diagnosed with a rare kind of cancer, and even with treatment he was given just a few years to live. He told colleagues he inherited a bit of money from a recently deceased relative”—
“I just bet.”
